


in the spring I'll shed my skin

by captainkilly



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath, Alcohol, Drabble, Gen, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkilly/pseuds/captainkilly
Summary: David Lieberman has always been friends with the night. That's the one thing that has not changed upon his homecoming.





	in the spring I'll shed my skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PresidentMeachum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresidentMeachum/gifts).



> This is a very short and standalone insight into some kind of aftermath for Micro, born out of a challenge ( _write no more than 500 words of Micro-centric fic_ ) issued to me by _presidentmeachum_ on Tumblr. Fic title inspired by the lyrics of Florence + the Machine's _Rabbit Heart_.

“Home.”

The word tastes different on his tongue tonight. For a moment, he believes it to be alcohol’s handiwork that lends it bitterness and leaves his mouth dry. He tips his glass in mock-salute to the empty chairs around the dinner table. Takes another swig straight out of the bottle. Sets it down and glares at the label as though the force of his will alone will be enough to strip it from existence.

He’s never been a drinker.

Scratch that.

He never used to be one, but there are a lot of things he never used to be that he currently is. He supposes he should count himself lucky that Madani had rolled her eyes at him and scrapped him off the list of ‘wanted dead men’ he’s certain Homeland keeps in a desk drawer somewhere he can’t reach. (He’s not used to not being able to reach information. Treats intelligence as a commodity to give free access to. He thinks that’s all right, but he’s not the one keeping secrets.)

Fucking 3AM and he’s no closer to sleep than he was four hours and half a bottle of dignity ago.

He thinks Sarah knows. There’s something about the set of her shoulders lately, as though bringing him home is another burden stockpiled onto the woman who already does a better job at shouldering the world than Atlas ever did. There’s something about the way she sees him and  _not_  sees him at the same time. Looks at him as though she brought home a stranger, and he still wears her husband’s face.

He can’t bring himself to stay in bed. Goes through all the motions – brush teeth, brush hair, undress, kiss the wife, read a book before bed – and still sneaks out the second his eyes meet the ceiling and stay fixed on it despite the sleep that tugs at his eyelids and makes his body go heavy. He’s careful not to wake them. Toes past the bed and steps over any lingering toys Zach always seems to stockpile outside his door at night. He’s not always successful at avoiding Leo, but his baby girl seems haunted by things he knows better than to try and shield her from. She just stares at him for what feels like forever before patting the bed beside her and letting him rest his head on her pillow.

David often thinks he can break, right then and there, but Leo’s eyes are too familiar and her stuffed bunny she sleeps with again always gets in the way of his mouth when he tries to get a word out.

He thinks she knows, anyway.

He’s done terrible things to keep them safe. He’s the kind of man to bargain with Death and come out victorious. He’s alive when he shouldn’t be. He’s in one piece where he has no right to be. He thinks that’s trouble.

David Lieberman sits at his dinner table and wonders how to keep his family safe from  _him_.


End file.
